The Book Waitress Series Volume One

By Deena Remiel

Camille Dutton, The Book Waitress, learned early in life Satan was not to be trifled with. Escaping his evil clutches as a child, she's worried he's come back with a vengeance for her now. She has luck on her side, though. Good and bad. On the upside, she narrowly escaped death and the devil claiming her soul. On the downside, a portal has been opened, and she can feel every time a beast from Hell crosses over to our world.
One creature in particular, a rogue ice demon named Synn, has made it his personal mission to protect her as part of his reformation. Her boyfriend, Derek, and his friends don’t trust him for a minute. Tempers flare, and passions ignite unexpectedly while new problems emerge. Can this fledgling team of demon-slayers rise above adversity, or will Evil tear them apart bit by bit and have its day?
The portal between Hell and Earth is torn asunder, and it will take everything Camille Dutton has and then some to close it. Satan won't go down easy, but nothing worth everything comes without a price.
The Book Waitress Series is a compilation of 13 serialized novellas paying homage to the TV shows I loved to watch- Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and Charmed. This volume contains the first three novellas connected seamlessly together into this one full-length novel. The next three novellas will be releasing in the months to come and will also be compiled into the next volume.

"Remiel's stories pull you in, captivate your heart, and make you beg for more."
-USA Today Bestselling Author, Laura Wright

"Deena Remiel's Book Waitress Series is a rare find. One part Buffy, another part Exorcist, with an extra large dash of hunky reporter, its bound to wind up on your favorite series list. It's certainly on mine." -Rebecca Royce, bestselling author of the Westervelt Wolves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deena Remiel
• Release date: Jun 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301972937

Deena Remiel

It was the mystique of Arizona’s history and landscape that called to Deena and catapulted her career as a USA Today Bestselling Author. When she’s not writing urban fantasy or paranormal romance in the wee, small hours of the morning or in the deep, dark of night, Deena teaches language arts to gifted middle school students. She currently lives in Mesa, but New Jersey will always tug at her heartstrings.

Book preview

The Book Waitress Series

Volume 1

Includes:

The Book Waitress

Devil Du Jour

Demon a la Mode

By Deena Remiel

The Book Waitress Series, Volume One

By Deena Remiel

Copyright ©2013 by Deena Remiel

Cover Art by Scott Carpenter

Smashwords Edition

The Book Waitress Series, Volume One is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement (including infringement without monetary gain) is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Published by Firewalker Press

Dedication

To my family here and the ones who have crossed through Heaven’s portal…

Acknowledgements

A village doesn’t begin to describe what it takes to bring my novels to publication. Countless days of waking up super early to write, along with ridiculously late night writing marathons, have left me with permanent dark circles under my eyes. But my stories have to be told. Family plays a major role in the successful endeavor. There are many nights of fending for themselves for dinner, and I can testify that all members can wash and dry their own clothes.

My editor and proofreaders are critical to the process, as is my phenomenal cover artist. Nicole Hicks has a wonderful feel for my stories and voice, while Elena Gray, Kali Maddox, and Lilly Bastian use their eagle eyes to get my stories as close to perfection as possible. Scott Carpenter works artistic magic, immortalizing my characters on the covers.

Once the stories are done, then there are many other people that I must acknowledge- all the folks who promote them! From blog tour hosts, reviewers, and FB fan club administrators to fans and mega-fans known as Street Angels, it takes a tremendous amount of work to get my stories noticed, and I thank them most sincerely.

And now, I’d like to personally thank you for loving my stories and continuing to support my brand of paranormal and urban fantasy romance.

Chapter One

Watch your step there, young lady. A deep, raspy voice broke through Camille Dutton’s frantic mind. Just up those stairs to the upper deck. It’ll be about eight minutes to the island once we shove off. Enjoy your trip.

Thank you. Eight minutes? It might as well be eight years! Ignoring the nausea threatening to erupt and drown the ferry before it even left the dock, she smiled graciously. The weather-beaten gentleman, the deckhand, she supposed, nodded at her with a crinkled smile and ushered the next person onboard. With every step she climbed up the steep metal stairs, she repeated a mantra to soothe unsettled nerves.

It’s not forever. It’s not forever. Finding an opening at the bow of the ferry, she took up temporary residence against the railing, and dropped the heavily laden backpack from her shoulder to the deck. The churning clouds mirrored her dark mood and hovered dangerously low over the expanse of water. Eight minutes of deep, dark wetness would now separate her from the life Camille had known for twenty-four years. She’d never been further than eighty miles from her home. She didn’t need to travel far; not when she had thousands of books at her disposal to take her wherever she wanted to go.

Her involuntary transfer to the Shelter Island Library, or forced exile as she preferred to call it, would last only as long as it took to find a permanent librarian. Her boss had promised, and she vowed to hold him to it. With her parents recently passed, she longed to stay in the house where they’d infused her life with cherished moments. This upheaval at work made their absence all the more painful to bear.

Shelter Island seemed the antithesis of its name. Camille had been lovingly sheltered by her parents and insulated within the comforting walls of her town’s library. She’d read all of the books repeatedly, from cover to cover. Going to this unknown town, living in a strange home, and working at an unfamiliar library left her feeling exposed to more than just the elements. It invited all manner of creature born to lay siege on her well-constructed fortress of solitude.

The ferry’s whistle blew as its engines kicked on and thrust the boat into the Sound. She gasped and closed her eyes, pressing fingers against the cold steel that kept her from jumping ship. A gusty breeze whipped her ponytail into a frenzy of curls that slapped at her neck and cheeks. Eyes smarted and watered as a rush of air assaulted her face. She couldn’t bear to watch as her life receded into the horizon. Looking forward was just as painful, and she pondered what lay ahead.

Laughter broke through her misery as two young children raced about playing tag. The raucous offered her a few moments of reverie, thinking back fondly on her own childhood antics. She chuckled lightly. Oh, to be so young and happy-go-lucky! I remember having that carefree exuberance…once upon a time. If only she could find a tenth of the fearlessness she’d had as a child, she would take on this latest challenge with all the ferocity of a lioness. Instead, she’d allowed it to wither and die along with those she’d mournfully laid to rest.

Maybe it wouldn’t be as horrible a transition as she envisioned. Maybe her anxiety skewed her perception of reality. She read enough psychology books to know for certain, and gave herself an amateur diagnosis—borderline agoraphobic with a possible detachment disorder. Who was she kidding? I’m just plain socially awkward and can’t stand crowds.

Getting moved to Shelter Island, then, should be a dream come true. The population for most of the year hovered at around three thousand but shot up during the summer. The library, with its historic pedigree, offered her the opportunity to read books that no other library had in its possession. But something didn’t feel right. Out of all the other librarians, those who were much more outgoing than she, why had they picked her?

Jolted from her musings by the arrogant blast of the horn, she trudged over to the stairwell and conducted her death march to the gate as the boat docked. People nudged passed her with disregard, waving at friends or family, she supposed, who waited onshore and shouted greetings of welcome. Not one person among them had come for her. She hadn’t expected anyone because she didn’t arrange for a pick up. Admittedly, she hadn’t exactly planned well for this move. Denial and no one to snap her out of it came to bite her in the butt. Hoisting the monstrosity of a backpack onto her shoulder, she mustered all the fortitude she had within her, brokered a smile, and walked off the ferry to find a cab and her new home.

***

Camille slipped her hand inside her jacket pocket and pulled out a crinkled note with an address scrawled on it. She looked at it, peered at the house through the cab window, and sighed. Yup, this is now home. It fit her mood perfectly. Overgrown shrubbery and weeds surrounded the front yard of unkempt grass. Rotted stairs led up to a small wooden porch with a pair of rocking chairs set on either side of the front door.

We’re here, Miss. Need help with your bag?

Oh, no. Thank you, I’ll manage. She fished inside her pocketbook for her wallet and keys to the house. How much will that be?

Ten dollars and fifty cents.

Here’s fifteen. Keep the change. She thrust the bills into his hand and put her wallet away.

Thanks. You ever need to get somewhere in a hurry, call me. Here’s my card. He handed her a bright yellow business card and smiled.

Will do. The cab door creaked as she opened it, and screeched even louder as it closed. As she stood on the sidewalk, the cabbie tore off up the road, leaving her to size up the remainder of the house’s exterior.

"Can’t judge a book by its cover, Cammy." No, but it sure tells a lot about what’s inside.

The roof and siding looked to be in good condition, and the sea foam green shingles complimented the greenery of the Dogwood trees on the property. All in all, for a rental, she rated it three stars. She’d tackle the overgrown bushes and weeds eventually. She decided standing outside only delayed her complete transition to her new life. Swinging the key ring on her finger, she marched up the path to the front door, praying the inside would be a bit more appealing.

Here goes everything, she mumbled, and turned the key in the lock. The house seemed to sigh with a whoosh of air as she opened the door.

She made a quick scan of the space before her and smiled genuinely for the first time that day. What a charming space! Scooting further into the room, she fell in love. The style of the fully furnished cottage pleased her sense of whimsy. An oversized, white couch and chair flanked a small fireplace, its mantel loaded with knick-knacks of fairies, goblins, elves, and gnome statuettes. She inspected each one, their unique designs reminding her of all the fantasy stories she’d read over the years. The ones that either comforted her when she felt down or allowed her to escape from the pain of reality. Gas lamps on doilies adorned the maple side tables, and on the far end, waiting patiently to be discovered, were bookshelves overflowing with books.

Camille wasted no time dropping her backpack to the floor and raced over to see what gems lay nestled together waiting for her perusal. Books. They would be her saviors while she transitioned into this whole new world, alone. Non-fiction, classics, suspense, horror, and romance novels co-mingled on every shelf, no rhyme or reason. She’d fix that.

A telephone rang, and at first, it didn’t register in her brain that it came from inside the house. But the insistent shrill urged her to locate and answer it before she went mad. Racing around like a lunatic, she found it in the kitchen, and scurried to pick up the receiver.

Hello?

Camille? This is Nancy Westin, the library supervisor. I just wanted to see if you’ve settled in yet. We need you down here as soon as possible.

Oh, well, I’m here. Just arrived, in fact. Haven’t had a chance to unpack my bag. But if you need me that badly, I’ll come straight away.

Please do. It’s a mess since Caroline left us.

I passed the library on my way here, so I know exactly where to go and how far it is. It shouldn’t take me longer than a few minutes to walk over after I’ve freshened up a bit.

No freshening up necessary. We’ll see you shortly. Nancy’s terse command and pinched voice sent chills up and down Camille’s spine.

Just as she was going to respond, she heard a click and scoffed. "Looks like someone’s forgotten her phone etiquette. And I have to work with this lovely person? I really dislike people." She sighed and trudged upstairs to her new bedroom.

Despite the urgency in Nancy’s voice, Camille decided she needed to clean up. The library would have to wait a little while longer for its new caretaker to arrive. She may not be comfortable around people, but she knew how to present a professional appearance for work and was determined to do so now.

Spilling the contents of her pack onto the bed, she sifted through the items until she found a suitable pair of pants, a blouse, and her bag of tricks that would transform her weary, bedraggled look into a refined librarian. A little blush to bring her back from the dead, some gloss to soften the lips, and a brush-through and twist into a chignon to tame her long, unruly curls. Giving herself a stamp of approval in the dresser mirror, she set off to tackle her demons, known and unknown.

Chapter Two

I’m doing my best, Nancy. You know we’ve been down a person, so cut me a little slack.

So who’s going to pay for all the books we can’t find because they’re lost on the shelves or stolen due to your lazing off? Let me get my calculator ready and I’ll give you an idea of how much money your lackadaisical attitude is costing us.

Excuse me. Two heads swiveled to face Camille, one with a look of surprise and annoyance, the other with relief. She’d been standing in the office doorway having gone unnoticed for a few minutes and decided she’d heard enough. It was time to play professional. I’m Camille Dutton, your interim librarian. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.

Please interrupt. I’m about to get an ulcer. My name’s Susan and this is Nancy. And I, for one, am very glad you’re here. Susan smiled with a look of relief.

Thank you, she said, offering a smile of her own. I’ll do my best to get up to speed. You know, ulcers are caused by diet and stress.

Yes, well…. Nancy flashed a dismissive glance. "Why don’t we begin with your duties? I’ve scheduled you for the periodicals department. It’s a rather robust area with a lot of traffic. But I was told it is your area of expertise. Follow me and I’ll give you the rest of the list. Susan, mind the front and circulation."

As they walked to the stairs and headed down one level, Nancy spouted her litany of daily chores and scheduled maintenance to be done after closing. Here, take this paper so you can memorize it. She shoved the list into Camille’s gut and waved her hand around like a game show model. This is the Periodical Department. Your responsibility. You need to know this place better than you know yourself as soon as possible. It’s set up similarly to the branch you’re from. Some periodicals must be signed for and are housed behind the circulation desk. The patron fills out a slip of paper, gives it to you, and you go get the requested periodical. When they return it, you put it away. When new ones come in, enter them into the system catalog, put the call numbers on the spines and shelve them accordingly. I’ve got my own work to catch up on, so if you have any questions, try to figure it out on your own or ask Susan.

With that, she turned and stalked back up the stairs, leaving Camille standing by the circulation counter, stunned by her supervisor’s abrasive manner. It couldn’t have been something personal. She’d done nothing to warrant her rudeness. People. They were so complicated. She guessed that’s why although she couldn’t stand them, she loved to study their nature. I could write another master’s thesis on Nancy alone.

Checking her watch, she supposed she’d be there well after closing. That gave her a few hours to acclimate to her surroundings and introduce herself to the books. Taking a good look around, she had to admit the place had loads of charm. Wooden book stacks lined the perimeter of the space and flanked heavy oak tables with green leather-bottomed chairs set in the center. Stained glass skylights washed the floors with a kaleidoscope of jeweled colors. The overall appearance spoke of age and history. If these walls could talk, oh what they might say!

She walked around the currently empty area, up and down the aisles, caressing the spines of the books as she went past. The walls may not be able to talk, but the books certainly do. History lived here. People’s research, opinions, and all manner of science were immortalized within the covers of the journals found here.

A series of loud cracks and slamming sounds pierced the silence. She squealed, jumped, and turned to look around. No one stood before her, but a slew of books were lying in a messy heap on the floor, some opened, some closed. Looking right and left, peering through the stacks and between the books, she still didn’t see who could have tossed them to the floor. And when she’d walked past a few moments ago, she knew how securely they were in place on the shelf.

That’s very odd. How the heck did this happen? Scratching her head, she walked over to the offending books, and as she picked up the first, noticed the title The Devil’s Handbook.

She bent down and picked up another. Same title, different volume. This one had been splayed open to a particular page. Spells. There were spells and recipes written for different evil purposes. She plunked herself down on the floor as curiosity compelled her to flit through the pages to see more. In all her five years as a librarian, she’d never seen a periodical whose sole purpose was to teach how to worship Satan. She glanced over at the other books lying askew on the floor, and they, too, were part of the collection.

A soft bell rung in the distance. Scrambling to her feet, she quickly closed the book and replaced all thirteen volumes back on the shelf. The bell rang again.

Coming! I’ll be right with you! Camille straightened her outfit and swept stray strands of curls away from her face as she dashed over to her circulation desk. Waiting at the high counter stood a tall, blonde-haired man in loose-fitting jeans and a plaid shirt. He slapped slips of paper against his palm, and shifted a beat up backpack slung over one shoulder.

He turned and their eyes locked as she scurried around the desk and pasted on a professional smile. Thank goodness she’d been rushing about. It masked the true reason for her breathlessness—his heart-stopping, blue-green eyes. How can I help you, today, sir?

I’d like to check these out, please, but I don’t know where to find them. He flashed a pearly white grin. I’m hoping you can help me.

Sure. Looking at his order slips, she noticed they were all for newspapers. They were kept in a different place from the journals. She looked on the floor plan taped to the desk and located their home. Follow me, please.

She joined him around the front of the circulation desk and walked to the far end of the room. Archived newspapers were in a small room off the main area. His slips listed local and national newspapers for June of the last six years.

I’m usually self-sufficient in a library, but I’m new to the island and this place is quite different from the ones I’ve been to. So thanks for helping me.

No problem. I’m new here, too, actually. Just arrived about an hour ago, in fact.

And you’re on the job already? Wow. That’s what I call dedication.

Here we are, sir. She opened the door and ushered him inside. Newspapers are organized by name, alphabetically, then by year, month, and day. They cannot be signed out, and I believe they must remain in this room.

Please, call me Derek. You’ll be seeing me here a lot from now on doing research, so it’s only right.

Okay, Derek. Please keep all food and drink out of the vicinity of the reference materials.

Yes, ma’am or…? He stood there, waiting. For what, she didn’t know.

Or what?

Or maybe you could tell me your name so I don’t offend you by using that old lady term again.

Ah, well, uh, my name is Camille. It just so happens the term ma’am, originally used in the 1660’s, is really a sign of respect when addressing a lady who is married. So it makes sense not to use that term for me since I’m not married. If you need anything further, I’ll be at the circulation desk. Good luck with your research. She stepped toward the door.

I learn something new every day, Camille. Thank you. It’s important work I’m doing here, you know.

I’m sure it is. I’m just gonna head out now. New ’round here. Gotta learn the ropes. She backed out of the room and closed the door, hurrying back to her desk where she touched her hands to her cheeks. A full-on flush had erupted on her face and neck. She could tell just by looking at her reflection in her computer screen.

Oh, my gosh! Why did he have to talk to her so much? And why did he have to look so darn cute? His pants and shirt didn’t need to be form-fitting for her to guess how toned he was underneath. His hair, short and smoothed back, just begged to be mussed with. And then, there were his eyes. Crystal, blue-green pools had locked onto hers earlier. Now, she wanted to drown in those mystical orbs. His pale complexion and lithe body reminded her of fae kings from faerie books she’d read a long time ago. She would love to be his queen, no questions asked.

Shaking herself free from her entanglement with fantasy land, she picked up some materials that needed to be shelved and tried her best not to succumb to the distraction known as Derek. He was just being nice. He couldn’t help being adorable. And he certainly wasn’t making a play for her. Men didn’t do that with her. They didn’t do anything except exploit her awkwardness.

Best to stay away and do your job, Cammy. Nothing good will come of encouraging a friendship with this man.

***

It’s important work I’m doing here? Really, dude? That’s what you say to the most beautiful librarian you’ve ever seen? Smooth, Derek. Way to sound like an arrogant ass. He was doing important work, but when it came to talking to women, his tongue always seemed to tie up in knots and he wound up saying something stupid, like he did just now. He could blame his Hippie foster parents for not cultivating his social skills, but he loved them too much. Nope, this was all on him. Her honey-blonde curls had escaped their twist and knocked him for a loop as she ran to her desk. And his brain had turned to mush when their eyes met for the briefest of moments. Never before had he seen a color so intense and intriguing as her golden amber. To top things off, she slayed him when she walked over to the newspaper room. Her hourglass figure swished seductively side to side as though her hips were accentuating a silent internal rhythm.

Rather than dwelling on his social ineptitude any longer, he decided to do what he came here for—research the mysterious disappearance of a child from the island. He was convinced there was a link between the current vanishing and others that had been reported in years past. All he needed was proof and some good leads and he could blow this case wide open. Starting with the local paper, he planned to prove that there could be an extremist satanic cult at work here.

The last child vanished a few weeks ago. Police on the island told him the leads had gone cold, just like it had for all the other children who’d gone missing. When he asked if the FBI had been called in, they clammed up and abruptly ended the interview. Suspicious behavior like that put him on the alert. He may not know how to maneuver in the world of women, but being an investigative reporter, he knew all about asking the tough questions and getting answers. An award sitting on his mantle at home proved that. He put the Shelter Island police department on his list of people of interest, but knew he would have to tread carefully around them and anyone else that he might suspect of being involved. Too many questions would make people skittish and run. Or even worse, they’d turn on him.

Getting comfortable in his chair, he began the tedious task of sifting through endless newspaper articles, beginning with the very first disappearance thirty-six years ago. Somewhere within these pages, the answer waited to be found. He readied himself for a very long session.

***

A light rapping sound stirred Derek from his intense scrutiny of the Shelter Island News for June 6, 1982. He looked through the glass window cutout in the door and bade Camille to come in.

Excuse me, I don’t mean to be a bother, but the library closes in fifteen minutes.

Oh, you’re no bother at all. He looked at his watch. Wow, time flies sometimes. Doesn’t it? He scrubbed his face with his hands.

Yes, it does. If you’re not finished with these newspapers and plan on coming back tomorrow, you can leave them with me. Just write your name and phone number on a slip of paper and I’ll store them in my office.

Well, aren’t you great? Not too many librarians have been as nice and accommodating as you. Thanks. I’ll take you up on that offer. She gave him an odd look and her cheeks turned fiery red. I mean, you know, your offer of keeping the newspapers for me. Not that you were offering anything else. Because you clearly aren’t. I mean we just met and you have to have my name and number in case I don’t show up, which I will come back, you know. Oh God, he groaned, dropping his forehead to the table, just shoot me now. Put me out of my misery.

Um, I’m gonna head back to my desk now. Ten minutes. Closing. The library. Yeah. He heard her heels scuffling across the floor. She’d left the door open.

Man, get your act together! He admonished himself. They may not let you back in here tomorrow considering how moronic you’re behaving. Holy hell. It’s a girl. A girl! Get a grip!

He replaced newspapers he’d gone through already and organized ones he wanted saved into a neat pile, putting his business card on top. With backpack hoisted onto his shoulder, he carried the bundle to the circulation desk. On his way over, he knew he had to make amends for his idiocy. Here you go. These are the newspapers I’d like saved for tomorrow. That’s if you’ll let me back in this place. I’m so sorry for the way I behaved back there.

Oh, that’s okay. She waved him off and laughed lightly. Usually I’m the one with the awkward comments to go along with the blush. So, I should thank you for taking the load off me this time.

I’ll see you here tomorrow, then?

I suppose you will.

Okay, well then, good night, Camille.

Good night, Derek.

He hoped his smile put her at ease rather than creeped her out even more than she probably was. She’d been kind to wave off his misstep, but she probably thought him a total loser. Oh, well. This isn’t Fantasy Island, and I’m not here to find love. I’m here to expose a satanic cult and hopefully save a child.

Chapter Three

What a day it had been! Camille reflected on the whirlwind that swept her up and had yet to drop her back down to earth. But now that the library had emptied of its patrons, she could stop and take a breath. She flopped into her chair and closed her eyes briefly. It was eight o’clock and she had about another hour of duties before she could go home. Or go back to the house that she

Reviews for The Book Waitress Series Volume One

[sasham-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Ok quick read. Got it as a freebie on amazon. Start of a series. Basically a satanist cult has a small town completely controlled. Enter new librarian and a investigative reporter. The writing was good but the main reason I removed some stars was 1) it didn't make me want to immediately get the next one and 2) there were a few times I just didn't understand why the characters would do the things they did. Plot was a bit thin.

[kvhardy · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Unfortunately, I just couldn't get into this book, and I really wanted to. I gave up.

[readingover50 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Love that the main character is a librarian and a book lover. Combined with the supernatural elements, this is the perfect book for me.

I like Camille, the main character. The Satan worshippers she encounters are truly evil and scary. The story takes place on an island, which has a small population and limited access. Apparently, a large portion of the residents are evil, and have been for generations. The action is fast paced and exciting. It was a little hard for me to believe that no one on the island was aware of the presence of the cult. The cult members that we meet seem very unpleasant. Didn't anyone notice what they were up to? And a child sacrifice every 6 years? It seems that would have drawn more attention.

So this is the first book in a proposed new series. It could be interesting. I will have to see how it turns out.